Nevermind
by Ryche
Summary: When Shiloh and her friends left for England, they were expecting a good, long, tranquil vacation together. That is, until one of their distant relatives takes them to a wealthy man's party, and Shiloh meets someone she never wanted interfering with her life. Rating may change to M!
1. Prologue

**A/N: My first story for this category. I realize that the prologue is not that great, but the rest of the chapters will be a lot longer and a lot better! I love reviews, like everyone, so I hope you enjoy!  
**

* * *

**Prologue**

"Would you stop pacing?" Shiloh's irritable words still flowed with her eloquent speech patterns, adsorbed keenly by the soft walls of her Colorado bedroom. The early-morning sunrise still had yet to appear, and the dark sky still lied with promises of the day as she added her final packing elements for the upcoming trip; the pacing friend at her back was one of the additional travelers on their voyage, along with a few others of the same label.

"If you would hurry up, I might!" Emma's deep black curls bounced as she continued back and forth, almost dancing in a manner. Her bright, moss-green eyes moved over and over her room where the four companions had stayed the night; the other two were already upstairs, awaiting their drive to the airport to truly start their vacation.

"Relax!" Shiloh hissed back over her shoulder, zipping up her one and only suitcase and her carry-on, slipping the backpack over her shoulder and grasping the luggage with her left hand as she stood up, leaning slightly as she raised an eyebrow to the other girl in the room. Both of the age 17, barely a month apart in their births, and it showed; they looked like they had been born in the midst of each other, how well they knew each other. Of course, Emma was the elder; out of the entire group, Shiloh was the youngest. "I'm ready!"

Emma's sudden beam was classic from someone who was accustomed to both being up at the early hour they now found themselves in and with complete and utter excitement at the upcoming trip, without any parents. Just the four eldest and best of friends, together to London to visit some of Emma's family there. Distant, elder relatives, though close friends to the mother and father of Emma, but rich ones who had offered to pay for the entire trip, under the name of the widowed Anna Robinson, who lived just outside of the city limits with the other descendants of the Lords and Ladies from the past. Supposedly, it was quite a fine place, a mansion of sorts, and from the way Emma had been oh, so excited over the course of the past few months and from the way she bolted up the stairs as she heard Shiloh's final words. The remaining woman could only chuckle and shake her head, following more slowly up the carpet, feeling each and every warm piece meld under her feet. She would certainly miss the feeling.

As she emerged from the basement, her initial sight was that of Emma nearly bouncing as the others sluggishly slipped their shoes on-an 19-year-old boy, Matthew by name, whose shaggy brunette hair was only given more eccentricity by his hazel eyes and black-rimmed glasses, and another girl, 19 by age, with tanned skin, shoulder-length black hair, swirled with tones teal and purple highlights, and very deep, brown eyes that were veiled with petite, elegant glasses as well, know as Michaela. Their luggage was already placed within the van they so traveled in.

"Come on!" Emma hastened, rushing out the door to her mother's silver minivan, the only car that could fit all of them and their luggage. Already the elder woman sat in the driver's seat, smiling that tiny little grin of hers as she watched the friends descend from the staircase into the front yard. Shiloh herself blinked tiredly, slowly, and looked one last time to the green grass of their summer yard, the moon overhead still shining down to caress her peach-colored skin with its light from this angle, just one last time before she left to England. The stars were already fading, and the creatures of the night returned to their homes to sleep for the day. The thought was beautiful to her, recalling the ever-present circle of yin and yang, how it played every day into their lives and actions.

The date was July 14th, and their return was not planned until the 18th of August; they certainly needed time to explore the vast regions of Great Britain and learn everything about its wonders. Shiloh had never been out of the country before, making this a definitely significant factor in her lifespan as of yet. The unknown was before her, ready to take her hand and accept her into its folds.

As she leapt into the back seat of the vehicle, she smiled to herself, knowing that which she could only imagine as of yet was happy with her choice.

* * *

His hair whipped in the breeze of the early morning, cool over his skin as he watched the world from one of his many mansion's balconies, the quiet cobblestone streets below him clicking with the sudden bursts of raindrops, puddles of murky water at each and every imperfection the road had been built with; the look was average for the city of London. It fit him, though, if he was perfectly honest with himself.

He pushed off from the balcony, closing the glass doors behind him as he descended down the nearby set of stairs, first to the main level, then to the basement of the place, dark except for the few candles he kept lit around the singular, massive room. The place was too large to be shared alone, by average standards, but he still did keep only himself within the house, along with the rest of the ones he owned all throughout Europe. He had not anyone, and had never since the deaths of his wives so many years ago, straight after one another. Ever since, he had been alone; his own death had been perceived, but, unfortunately for the man who had so tried to murder him, he was stubborn. He had managed to slip away without too much notice. Now, he was a reclusive figure, but a prominent one none-the-less, and one with many allies at his side, including those in high offices.

Still, something had felt off since the events of the years past; he felt extraordinarily empty, like his insides had decided to stay back at the place he had so been meant to die. Of course, he had always been rather…devoid of emotion, except for the occasional kindle he received with a gleam of excitement in something. As he leaned into the walls of the lower level of the building, he mused such, mind flying to the past, wondering if he had ever been different from such.

Not that he could recall. He chuckled to himself, lowering his head as he kicked off the wall, moving across the room to blow out the candles there. A flicker of a reminder of the coming evening passed to his mind, stating the fact that he was being thrown a dance tonight in honor of his birthday. He had called it the date as much, and his well-known associates had believed his words. After all, he did have to keep up a profile with these modern men and women, and apparently this was the result. He pursed his lips, wondering if anything of interest would occur in the evening, and merely shook his head with a similar chuckle as before. Though it was a classical dance, made extremely extravagant with more exquisite clothing, plans, and all those matters, he supremely doubted it would be anything that would blow his mind.

He led himself to bed with that final thought on his head and a smirk on his lips.


	2. Beginnings

**A/N: So this is more of a intro chapter, just to really get things into action. Don't hate me if it's a little slow! Thanks for reading and reviewing as of yet!  
**

**Beginnings**

Even through the dark curtains over the window, the colors of the beginning sunset warmed over my eyelids, massaging them with tender shades of orange and red, with the slight tints of pale yellow added to them, from the sunburst through the overlying London clouds. Stretching out slightly, I flittered my eyelids open, looking over to single window in my guest bedroom with tired, half-moon eyes. Slowly, I slipped off the one-man bed, clad in my travelling clothes, and nearly mindlessly walked over to the curtains and pulled them apart, another hand already brought up to my eyes as to shield from the sudden luminosity.

Not that it was needed for very long, though. Considering the weather patterns of the city, it was no surprise when a dark cloud rushed over the extraordinary ray, blocking it from view. Sighing purposelessly to myself, I spun on my heels, examining the room I would be staying in for over a month. When our flight had gotten in from the Springs we knew as our hometown, the Widow Robinson had picked us up in her one and only mini-van, driving us away from the airport and out of the city without much contact before we reached the actual house.

It was a classic Victorian, though fairly larger than most we had ever seen in our lives, with the French doors and elegant touches that signified them so well to complete it. However, it was a good four stories high, with a basement as well, fitting all of us comfortably.

Exhausted from the flight and the time change, I hardly even listened to the tour she gave us. All of our rooms were on the third floor, and as soon as she pointed them out, I headed to the nearest, closed the door, and just sank into the bed. Hence the lack of comfortable clothing.

Now, I was really looking upon it for the first time. It was relatively straightforward, small, triangular room, with high beams of cherry and mahogany wood, a glossed floor taking more of the cherry flare, and the single, very large window to the far side of the room, opening up and extending to the red rooftop, steep and straight down, though it looked like if I held enough balance on it, I could use it as a platform. Two of the walls were white, though the one across from the bed was accented with a tangerine-orange color. A small ebony wardrobe was propped up on that wall, right on the angle that separated it from the wall with the door on it. The bed was placed at the furthest corner of the room, with only a nightstand to accompany it, and my bags precariously placed at its side. The black satin sheets and comforter were the piece that truly stated the wealthier aspects of this house.

A slight smile beginning to curve onto my lips, I released my posture, reaching over to grasp my backpack, unzipping it and unloading the contents on the bed and the nightstand. Computer, phone, iPod, all my electronics were neatly laid out before me, and I only paused to plug in the laptop, then continued into the bag to get out my wallet, and then my journal and my novel. The yellowed pages were strong and sultry to the touch, and even as I barely skimmed it across the zipper of the bag, the homely scent of old book was released into the room. The appropriate breaking-in policy made me look down and read the title before setting it in a drawer: _Fight Club _by Chuck Palahniuk.

The same routine went for my clothes into the wardrobe. I wasn't much of a person in the ways of fashion-most of my attire consisted of a band shirt and either cargo pants or jeans. However, my mother had made me pack a few more classy outfits, the fanciest being a simple black skirt and low-cut, lacy top that I simply could not stand. A few pairs of shoes, and then I was done. I stood, and almost as soon as I shut my wardrobe door a knock came.

"Hey Shy!" Michaela's voice came through the thick wood with depth and profound grace, followed by the clicking of knob as her face suddenly popped in. "Are you getting ready yet?"

I cocked my head to the side, raising my hands to wipe the sleep from them once more. Her hair was dripping wet, and a simple robe was over her delicate form. Her mouth went agape as she looked over my form, and suddenly, she burst through the room, pushing me aside to open my wardrobe, a scowl coming to her lips as she looked over my clothing. It was a seldom occasion to see her this enthused, so I took a step back to allow her room to let out her sudden burst of energy. She slammed the doors shut, spinning and pointing out to the main hallway.

"You need to go get ready. We're leaving in about two hours." With this, she started ushering me out of the room, into the hallway, and down to where the bathroom apparently was.

"For what?" I breathed out, stumbling over myself as she pushed my form further down. There was a sudden pause in motion at my words, and she stepped out in front of me, eyes wide.

"You really were tired, weren't you?" I shrugged at her inquiry. She shook her head, having to actually look up to catch my face. "Well, Ms. Robinson was invited to this dance to celebrate another wealthy man's birthday tonight, and we are going with her, whether _you_ like it or not." Her reference to my lack of pleasure in these sort of social events was tedious, to say the least. "And we are supposed to dress nice. You have nothing to wear to something like this. Luckily, I have an entire bag of extra dresses." Of course. Her step-grandmother dealing in the selling of dresses, and she had always wanted her business name to be struck in Europe. Michaela was likely to spend a few days out on the market giving them out with her grandmother's card to impress. This also meant differing sizes. "I'm picking out your dress, though. It'll be on your bed when you get back to the room." With that, she heaved me the final way into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, and leaving me to prepare myself.

I couldn't help but giggle. Of course, I did enjoy dances; casual ones, though, not pristine gatherings for people higher-up on the social ladder. I usually somehow embarrassed myself in one way or another, and had to truly be up-tight with myself to keep from breaking loose and being the very odd, very unique me that most people took time to get accustomed to.

Shrugging to myself, I stepped out of my bearings and into the shower, allowing it to lather over my skin with its heat and warmth for nearly half an hour, cleansing my pale frame and hair to the maximum extent I could. Finally, when I decided it was time to stop, I turned off the boiling water, stepped into a bath robe, gathered my clothes, and exited the room, heading straight for mine without any interaction with the others, though a smile did play on my lips.

As I stepped into the room, I gasped, dropping my handful of clothes and staring at the light blue material before me. Immediately, I threw off the robe, drying my hair slightly and innovatively with it as to not soak the beautiful dress, and when it was not longer saturated, I slowly approached, barely listening to the scuffles passing through the hallways, up and down the stairs, to other bathrooms in the house, I would imagine. That meant the one on this level was likely my own.

I sent a gentle finger down the material feeling its silky fixture, along with its light layers that compounded over each other on the actual shirt. It was a halter top, with dazzling silver jewels over the primary torso area, broken up only by a ribbon of the same blue that hued the entire dress towards the neckline. Once it hit the waist, the skirt burst forth to the ground, allowing the layers to show in pure blue, only interrupted by subtle strings of the dazzling jewels at the bottoms of the levels.

Impatient as usual, I slipped the dress on over my form, feeling the perfect fit as it set into place. Michaela had a way with picking fits just from sight. Beaming genuinely to myself, I spotted a pair of shoes out of the corner of my eye-white high-heels. I tensed, knowing how completely and utterly klutzy I was, but stepped over to them anyways. I had nothing else to match this…Despite my probable best interests, I crouched down to reach them, and sat on the bed as I buckled them on. When I finally stood, it was shaky at first, but I held myself together, smoothing out any imperfections that the bed had performed on the dress, letting out a breath before practicing a quick walk about my room. Heel, toe, heel, toe…dancing would be interesting in these. They added a good three inches to my form, allowing me to show up as a good five foot eleven. It was tall for most girls, but it still had nothing on Matt-the man was a beast when it came to height.

Slowly, measuring each step, I walked out of the room once again, a small makeup bag in my hand this time as I headed to the bathroom, ducking my head down in the hopes that no one would see me yet.

The next hour went by mechanically. I dried my hair, putting it up in a slight bun that allowed many of my wavy locks to fall behind my head, while a few stray bangs framed my face and gave it a much more toned look. I added little makeup; only some blush, simple eyeliner, and a little bit of light red lipstick. Silver hoops dangled down about half an inch, though I left my neck open. On my left hand, I kept my customary woven diamond ring on my middle finger, and it only increased the outfit. As I looked into the mirror, I had to admit that I did look good. The dress clung to my body quite well, and showed off my face quite well. My sandy-blonde hair fell to behind and below my shoulders, which were shown quite sharply with the halter-top, and my nearly white highlights looked radiant with the contrasts of colors. The dress also reflected my gunmetal gray eyes, showing off the blue quality to them, and giving more of the description of steel blue.

Finally, I was done, and as I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard voices downstairs already, probably from the living room. Slowly, I descended the staircase, breathing steadily and focusing on not falling. A stair creaked, and silence followed, all eyes meeting me as I descended into the gathering spot of my friends, my face obviously holding back a beam and a laugh.

"Oh my God!" I finally let loose, looking over the two girls in awe. "You guys look breathtaking!" They giggled, and stepped closer to me, the vibe of our gaiety overwhelming.

"You do too!" Emma blurted out, her cheeks flushed red. Her naturally straight hair was loose, though curled and having a few golden strands tied into it. She bore simple diamond studs, and her heart-shaped face had no makeup to increase her natural beauty. She wore a strapless white dress that fell to just below her knees, showing off her calves stunningly. Red hues were sprinkled over it in the form of circles, more frequent at the torso and spreading over the course of the skirt. At her waist, a bright rouge belt accented the entire outfit, the buckle studded with diamonds. Red heels made her almost as tall as me.

Michaela nodded, stepping even closer to me, producing a single white lily in full bloom, stem nearly non-existent, and suddenly placed it on the right side of my bun, locking what was left of the stem with the clear rubber band there to hold it in place.

"You were missing something," she explained softly as she moved away, a very pleasant smile on her lips, though still very calm. Her hair was completely compiled into a very elegant bun on the back of her head, a slight wisp of bangs over her forehead with their purple and teal coloration. Her earrings were dangled strips of sparkling sterling silver, and were even brighter than mine. She wore abundant makeup, but it made her look absolutely stunning. Her dress was also very chic, a strapless black that moved elegantly from the free skirt to the rather stiff torso, the only accent being the luminous white bow of material that was tied about her waist. The dress was slightly shorter than Emma's, and the heels were black and even taller than any of ours. Still, she was a bit shorter than Emma and I.

Finally, my eyes fell onto Matt with a gasp, and then a fat-out burst into laughter, mixed with disbelief and slight anger. His face was clean, hair brushed back finely, but the trigger point was that he was wearing an outstandingly obnoxious suit of bright orange, matched with a top hat and everything. I had no idea what to do-yell at him to go change into something that wouldn't completely embarrass us, or go up to him and hug him for being so humorous in this situation. This like this simply defined Matt, though. It was who he was; of course he would do something completely outrageous on their first day of the trip! I just hoped it didn't bright too much negative attention his way…

But for now, I just laughed. It was perfect, and Matt wasn't about to look any nicer.

A clearing throat turned away out thoughts of each other, though, to Mrs. Robinson, her looks rather similar to Emma's, though in her mid-sixties and with a long violet dress and sandals. She gestured to the clock, and then for them to follow to the car, having absolutely no desire to be late. Shrugging to each other, we followed, my last glance at the clock stating that it was almost eight that evening.

"My God…" Michaela's sentence trailed off as we stepped out of the car, the valet assistance stepping up to take it off from the area. My own agape mouth immediately understood what she was talking about-the masses of people entered one of the city's auditoriums, most ladies and gentlemen dressed in black and white, elegant and completely and utterly chic, ranging from late 30's to early 70's in age. If I was completely honest, I couldn't tell if I was underdressed or overdressed for the occasion!

Blushing slightly, I glanced over to Matt, his top hat shifted slightly to the side. As soon as I my eyes even noticed the bright color again, I groaned. This was Black Tie, wasn't it?

Desperate for reprieve from my thoughts before entering, I glanced over to the car before us, watching as a family of five stepped out, handing the assistant a few bills before starting towards the building like the rest of the guests. A sigh of relief released from my lips as I took in their wardrobes. The parents were relatively average, black and white colors priming them in a graceful dress and rather handsome tuxedo. The three children, though, were what eased the tension in my stomach-all off them wore outfits just as colorful as ours.

Rolling my shoulders, I smiled over to the others, and with a unification of years past, we strutted inside, bright lights assaulting our eyes as our shoes clicked against the hardwood floors. The sleek cherry boards matched the mahogany beams and buttresses that flew upwards, creating a massive dome of simply stunning architecture over our heads. A single balcony surrounded the entire room, which, within itself, was likely half the size of a football field. The echo certainly wasn't horrendous, though, and I silently thanked an unknown force for that much. I most certainly hated echoes, especially when it came to music and talking. I knew there would be plenty of both this night.

Already a more classical tune of a waltz came to my ears, and, following the absolutely beautiful sound of the violin, I saw a single string quartet against the very back of the room, a few dancing couples before them already.

Though I respected the genre of music, it was not my preference by any means. Not to say I was unbeknownst to its ways in the least-I could likely name any piece that they played, or, if it was their own composed works, the names of their composer of inspiration.

Michaela and Emma veered to the right, straight towards the side of the room and the food stands, serving both alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, and some of the most delicately made foods I had ever seen in my life, many reflective of modernism, while others were reminiscent of the assorted cultures of the world. Raising my eyebrows, I followed after them, not even bothering to look back at Matt. I knew he wasn't going to stick by us the entire night-he certainly had better things to do.

We had arrived about twenty minutes late due to a surge of traffic, so most of the guests had already arrived, or were coming in now. The mood was already open enough, and the action was paced well. More couples were mingling out on the floors than anything, but many still were finding the time to already being dancing to the beat. I watched their strides without too much interest, though it would be absolutely delightful to have someone out there on the floor with me. Stepping up to the girls, I plastered an eager smile on my face, informing them that I was much more alive and awake than I had been earlier in the day.

"You two scoping already?" I jeered playfully, situating myself against the long, wooden table, not really caring about the silent stares I received from my improper conduct so early in the evening.

"What? People-watching is entertaining!" Emma's innocent argument made both Michaela and I laugh.

"In any place except this!" I reasoned, leaning in so that only they could hear me. "This is just a gathering for pompous, up-tight richies that have nothing better to do in their evenings!" Emma gasped at my blatant statement, while Michaela merely rolled her eyes. It was to be expected-my judgmental attitude and sarcastic humor was known between all those that I even vaguely knew.

Emma slapped my arm lightly, a pout coming to her face. "Shiloh! You should know better than to say such things! You don't know any of these people! I mean-"

"I was kidding!" I said, cutting her off. "Mere jest, my melodramatic friend! Why would I bear burden to such cynicism on such a night as this?" Her scowl lessened a bit, though her eyes still showed her displeasure in my hypocrisy as I practically acted out my words. I cleared my throat, and she shook it away, not letting my impeding wit cast a damper on her evening.

"So have you seen anyone you want to dance with yet?" I pushed, leaning back once again, a single eyebrow inclined. Her face blushed, and her eyes widened at my statement.

"Well, um…there's a few guys I wouldn't mind hanging out with…" The quiet words were a tell-tale sign of the obvious, as well as the way she stood tall and strong, posture telling the world that she was a perfect young woman to be swept off her feet. I blew a hair out of my face chuckling, and then smirking as I turned to the other girl.

"What about you, Mickey?" I accented the final statement, drawing it out and seeing her form immediately start to seethe aggressively. Oh, how she hated that name! A punch on my bicep was the only answer I received.

"So who's this lord guy?" I continued, the question's sincerity rolling off my tongue.

"He's a Count, actually," Emma responded in that matter-of-fact tone of hers. "From Romania. Bit on the older side, from what I understand, maybe late 30's or early 40's, wealthy, single. Not exactly sociable, but well-known. From what I've heard, he's gonna make an appearance later tonight in his own dance, just him and a partner on the floor. Don't know why, though. He'll probably just ask someone from the crowd."

"Lucky woman," I said monotonously. "I'll have to be watching for that; it would be absolutely hysterical if she turned him down."

"Could be a guy," Michaela put in, unperturbed by the incredulous stares we both sent her way. "You never know. Besides, it's not like you can say no to a _count_. Especially on a night like this, at his own party."

"Very true," Emma put in. "But, we are probably leaving right before that, anyway. Anna doesn't exactly like to stay for very long at events like these. They wig her out."

The conversation dissipated as a young man came up to us and asked Emma for a dance. She looked like she was about to squeak, but controlled herself as he lead her out to the floor. Michaela and I were each also asked by several men, differing from dance to dance. The entire time, though I did enjoy the careful steps of the upper-class British youth, I felt like someone was staring at me, deep into my soul. Finally, it was too much. I sneaked a glance up to one of the balconies, and saw a single man standing there, no emotion coursed over his pale features, with what looked like a fine, black riding jacket with golden embroidery upon it, matching his dark dress shoes and pants. Other than the fact that his eyes bore into me, I couldn't tell much else about him. I didn't really mind it at first-checking out a girl is relatively average for any man. The problem was that I felt his eyes on me _the entire night_.

A massive clock was hung over the main entrance to the building, and as I allowed my eyes to meander over to it, I read that it was only a few minutes away from ten. Presently, the song ended, and I dismissed myself from my current dance partner, seeing Michaela and Emma back in our original spot. Slowly, I made my way over to them, feet already sore from these infernal shoes, eye twitching as I continued to feel the heated gaze my way. I didn't even turn around to stand next to them as I become close-I would only end up staring back. Instead, I smiled weakly, watching as Ms. Robinson made her way towards us, a contented look upon her face.

"Well, it seems that Matthew has certainly made a name for himself this evening," she began gesturing over to our ever-dancing friend. Internally, I was pretty positive he had danced with ever under-age girl here this night, and even a few between the ages of eighteen and nineteen. That included myself and the other two girls.

"It's the colors," I said with a sure nod, a shudder of relief flowing through me as I suddenly felt that glare disappear. My form relaxed, and I was almost certain that Michaela had caught it as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Of course," the elder woman agreed softly. "But, unfortunately, we must be going. The Count's dance is next, and after that is usually when people start to be tipsy from the lack of discretion in their alcohol consumption. Hence the large amounts of teenagers like yourselves." As she spoke, Matt made eye contact with me, and I quickly waved him over. His eyes and face looked like he was about to protest, but as I subtly pointed to Ms. Robinson, he dragged himself over.

"Well, let's head off than. I'm eager to be in that bed again." Everyone but Matt chuckled, his arms crossing childishly over his chest, though he still stayed silent. My words seemed to only darken his mood. Already, the elder woman started off, with Matt and the girls closely on her heels. Personally, I breathed in deeply, rolling my shoulders before starting off after them. I walked a few feet, only to have a hand on my shoulder stop my momentum with a slight gasp of surprise on my part. My group's eyes turned back to regard me, Matt's narrowing dangerously as I turned about.

There, before my eyes, stood the man I had seen on the balcony. A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins in surprise, albeit just a swift one that nearly instantaneously relaxed. My knees tightened, and I swallowed, glancing back quickly to where he had been standing.

And where he no longer was.

As I looked back to his face, a slight smirk played on his lips, with extraordinarily pale skin and black hair, long and sleek, tied back behind his head to compliment it. A few bangs were left to the side, cradling his face easily, from his sharp chin and nose to the pattern of switching between delicate and sharp angles across the way. His most striking feature, though, were his intense, electric-blue eyes. I nearly shuddered as they stared into mine, but held my composure, raising a signature eyebrow. He was undeniably handsome-I had always found older men more to my visual appeal, though nothing more. If I was quite honest, though, he had been staring at me like some sort of bemused pedophile all night. I wasn't about to let my attraction swoon.

"Forgive me for interruption," he said with a baritone voice, smooth as ice and just as chilling, with a highly Romanian accent, "but it would be much to my pleasure if I could ask you for a dance." He lifted his hand from my shoulder, extending it out to me. My gut clenched, and I blinked rather quickly, backing away slightly. This man just had one of those auras about him that screamed '_stay away from!_' about him, and I'll be damned if I just let my instincts go with this one.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but me and my company were just _leaving_." I made the beginning sound as innocent as possible, but drew out the last word to make it a point. He merely looked bemused by this.

"Now, now, I am sure you can stay for one more dance. Grace me with your presence at my own gathering." The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I just prayed there wasn't a streak of sweat on my brow. I heard giggling from behind me, held back as to cease a complete and utter uproar from this turn of events. They were thinking the same thing as I was, weren't they?

_Besides, it's not like you can say no to a count. Especially on a night like this, at his own party._

Michaela and I were going to have a few words when we got home.

Even now, I felt like beating her or something. I turned back to glare daggers at them, but their snickering only seemed to increase at that. Matt even held back a knowing smile, and Ms. Robinson merely nodding, understanding the weight of the situation.

My predicament was basic, but infuriating all the same. Even as I turned back to the man, I knew that there was not much I could do. I found myself lifting my hand into his gloved one, and trying to smile slightly. It was only harder when his smirk widened all the more.


	3. Empty Spaces

**A/N: Yet another thanks to all my readers, especially those who have been so kind as to review, favorite, or alert this story! I love good feedback like that! And in case you are wondering, I am kind of obsessive about music, and it definitely shows in this story. I talk about it A LOT. If you're curious about any of it, please do feel free to ask me about it. Or you can just look up. **

**Bit of a shorter chapter, but one all the same. **

**-Diamond White: Yes, he is accurately seen as Richard Roxburgh. Thanks for reviewing and hope to hear more from you!**

**Empty Spaces**

I hadn't noticed that the entire floor was already cleared, the entire cluster of guest piled together against the walls surrounding the center of the floor, where the count lead me to. His hand tightened on mine as he twirled me towards him, that smug appearance from before still displayed over his lips and entire countenance. His eyes were half-closed, like he was contented with some sort of overbearing tone from the evening. Myself? I was almost positive that though my face was stolid, my breathing and wide eyes gave away just how mortified I was at the current moment. Of all the beautiful woman here, _many so much closer to his age group_, why did he have to go and stare at me of all people, choose me to dance with of all people?

My thoughts were interrupted as he pulled me towards his body, extending our already conjoined hands outwards and placing his other arm around my waist and pulling my form even closer. As I followed, desperate to not make a scene, I obliged in placing my free hand on his shoulder. Thankfully it wasn't too much of a reach upwards; that would have been quite difficult to dance with in these shoes, and just awkward as well. I released a small sigh, and as he tried to pull my form in even more, I dug my heels into the ground, making it a point to keep some space between us as we moved. My eyes met his, and my defensive aura only seemed to make him even more interested.

Whispers hushed respectfully, the sharp pull of the bow across the violin beginning the soft tones of the music. I allowed him to take the first steps, sweeping me in a circle just after his start. It was traditional to let the male role lead the dance, and so I did, though every-so-often I would have to keep my easy-moving feet from being pulled closer into his form. He was one of those people who never gave up, wasn't he? Lucky me.

As the song progressed, I found myself still looking boldly into his intensely colored orbs, though my mind was elsewhere, trying to think of anything but the moment at hand. I lazily followed him with fluidity, still keeping posture and my place at least half a foot away from him. Instead of focusing on the rather uncomfortable position, though, I found my mind listening to the music, pondering its very nature. The piece was unfamiliar to me, but the style was definitely reminiscent of Tchaikovsky's, though it shared several of the qualities of Grieg's music as well, with a very modernistic twist in some of its styles of playing.

Suddenly, my thoughts were broken by his release of my waist and twirling of my body, picking up the pace of our dance as the music's own tempo burst. I stumbled slightly, and the breech in my defenses was apparently just the break he needed. As he ceased my twirl, he forced my abdomen against his, arm completely wrapping around my back to keep me in place with his surprisingly superior strength. I gasped, only loud enough for him to hear, and my heart skipped a beat as he gracefully leaned me down, his eyes flashing to my throat and chest as I leaned, balanced perfectly in his rather cold touch, hair pulled down by gravity. My entire form tightened, held there for a few more seconds.

My eyes quickly ran over the people in the room, catching all of their slight smiles and a few scowling at our practice. He pulled me back up then, swinging me outwards with the stretch of an arm, then bringing me back in, my back to his chest. We swayed slightly, arms crossed over my chest and torso, before he spun me once more, music reaching its final climax, and pulled me back to his apparently favorite position-my chest and stomach pressed against his. The music ended then, and a spring of clapping arouse from the audience, who were already taking their partners out to the floor again, surrounding the Count and I. I tugged back slightly, but still he did not release me, his eyes slowly taking in my closeness one last time. I knew I was shaking-he was blatantly _checking me out_ and I was not one to stand still in such a situation.

He licked his lips, and my breath failed, nearly choking out. I swiftly removed my hand from his shoulder, sharply pulling down on the clasped one. However, undeterred, he merely followed its path, squeezing it to the point of me actually wincing in slight pain at my side. His eyes met mine again, and I flinched backwards slightly at their stare-something almost black and evil. Yup. Should've said no to this dance anyways.

His hand around my back still firmly placed, he pulled my other hand up between us with ease, despite my best efforts to keep it at my side. If there was one thing I could confidently say about him, it was that he was strong. Slowly, he pulled his head down to my skin, and placed his lips on the upside of my hand. I had to clench my teeth to keep from letting my jaw fall wordlessly in awe. I felt him smirk even more into his small kiss, and a feeling of repulsion rose in my stomach. How did he _know _my discomfort? His head lifted, though he still held my hand in place. Now, I did release my jaw, mouth-breathing and held frozen by his steel eyes. My heartbeat jumped slightly, though it was generally controlled, not pounding any faster, but harder instead. I swallowed, and sank my head back at his close proximity.

"Pardon my rudeness," he drawled, his breath cold over my hot hands, "I failed to introduce myself. My name is…Vlad." His hesitation before stating his name was disconcerting, to say the least. He raised himself fully, eyebrow up expectantly.

"Suzie," I lied flatly, eyes blinking definitively. My effort was redeemable; there was no way I was telling this guy my real name. His upper lip twitched, as if seeing through my words, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Finally, he freed my hand, only to reach up behind my ear and tracing a few hairs down, parting them and smoothly, slowly, removing the lily that still hung there. I found my mouth close, eyes looking into oblivion, and my face pale, the tension in my calves distinct as he pulled the flower up to his nose, sniffing it audibly.

"Lilies," he said absently, "the flowers of virtue and purity." I slowly nodded, my lips pressing together in a very awkward position. "Truth is so well defined by them." A wave of electricity passed through my veins, but I held my visage of ignorance. He cleared his throat, the sudden change in his demeanor forcing my head upwards yet again to stare into his eyes yet again. Slowly, they closed, the flower hand dropping to his side as his lips pursed, separating slightly and leaning down towards my face. Eyes widening, I realized what he was after. Everything about him was focused there suddenly, the tension at my back softening and nearly releasing, barely held there by my own natural curves. Before anything could happen, I silently thanked whatever force had given me this chance of escape, and shoved myself out of his reach, turning and striding determinedly towards the door, finally turning after I was at least a few meters away, completely flushed.

"Sorry, I really have to go!" I nearly shouted back his way, scanning his clenched hands, knuckles white even for him, and the slight fire ablaze in his eyes. He certainly hadn't been expecting that! Before his wrath could catch up to me, I scurried over to my friends, grouped by the door, breathing heavily now and shaking slightly. "Take me home?" I begged slightly, Emma's arm wrapping around my shoulders protectively as she looked over my shoulders. I could still feel his stare baring into me, and leaning into her for support.

Ms. Robinson solemnly led the way to the car, and drove us back silently, the others not even daring to talk. Matt slumped in the front, while I looked out the window, lip trembling slightly. As we pulled up into the main driveway, I took a deep breath, releasing all the tension from that scene as I did so, a tired smile taking my face again as we exited the car and entered the mansion. I excused myself, and went to retire to my room, taking off the dress and undoing my hair and putting on a nightgown before rolling onto the bed, grasping my iPod. Just as I started to put the headphones in, bent on a night of sleep to carry away the troubles of this evening, a knock came from my door. I scowled to myself, but sat up anyways.

"Come in," I said, not bothering to get up. The wooden doorway opened, and in strode Michaela and Emma, both sitting on either side of me on the bed.

"What was that all about?" Emma asked, a bit of irritation rolling off her voice as she crossed her arms. "Who does that man think he is? All over you like that?"

"It's a modern world, Emma," Michaela lazily reprimanded, her tone showing her disapproval in Emma's innocent ignorance.

"That's no excuse!" She continued, her spine raising. "That act he pulled at the end was completely inexcusable! His eyes were all over you, Shy! And the lily thing? That was just creepy!"

Michaela chuckled. "It was probably just a one-time thing."

My own face contorted. "Dude, he was staring at me the entire time we were there! I feel violated!"

"Well, then it sounds like you have a stalker to deal with already." Michaela lay back on the bed, head wandering to face me. "You know, you really have problems when it comes to guys. But hey, at least he's pretty hot for a stalker."

I gagged, snarling internally at the comment. Yes, he was attractive, but I was not about to admit anything like that about any man, Count or freaking bum, who treated me like that. What a vulgar first impression of London!

"As if," I retorted, eyes closing defiantly. "He looked like an old version of Adam Ant." Emma burst out laughing, having to join Michaela back on the bed to stimulate herself.

"He's not that old!" Michaela returned.

"Come on! He was like, 40! Way out of my range!"

"Anyways!" Emma cut in, clearly tired of this conversation. "I saw that you guys were getting down with a bunch of the guys!"

"Like you weren't!" I shot back, hitting her stomach with a slight fist.

"Hey, I was with like, one guy all night!"

"Oh, was he that sweet?" Michaela mocked.

"At least she got someone she liked!" I countered. "Your unmoving scowl was present the entire evening!"

That was one of the few times I ever saw Michaela blush, before she looked up at me fiercely. "Oh, like you met someone? Last time I checked, you were the one running out the door!"

I flicked her nose, earning a slight growl. "Actually, I met a few guys I would bust a tango with any day!"

"I'm out!" she suddenly said, jumping off the bed and storming out of the room.

"Sleep well!" I yelled after her, chuckles coming through to my voice. "You know, I think she's right about sleep, though." Emma murmured in agreement.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked as she stood with one hand placed on the doorway, biting her lip slightly. I rolled my eyes at her constant pestering.

"Believe me, I'm more than used to stalkers. Besides, I didn't even give him my real name; I doubt I'll ever see him again. This is just another story for my life."

She shrugged, bidding me a goodnight as she closed the doors. Finally alone, I sighed back into the comforter, crawling under it and pulling my earplugs over to me, not in the mood to read my book tonight. I skimmed through my artists, settling on the Doors, knowing that with Jim Morrison's tender words and voice, I wouldn't be awake for more than five minutes. With this in mind, I tapped "The End." I clicked off my light, darkness encompassing me with a few passing thoughts of the night's events covering into my subconscious border. The Count was the last image that came to pass as I practically passed out.


	4. When the Levee Breaks

**A/N: I sincerely apologize for the wait on this chapter. Life's been really busy as of late, but I will not deter your time with petty excuses. Should be able to keep up better again now, though.**

**Thanks to all of the people who have reviewed, favorited, or followed this story! Thanks to all the readers as well!**

**Beginning is a little confusing, I think, and I really don't like this entire chapter, but I hope that you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. Oh, sleeplessness~**

**Since I forgot it every other chapter, may as well start now: _Disclaimer: I do not own or hold any rights to Van Helsing or any of its characters. _**

* * *

**When the Levee Breaks**

"Shiloh…"

Through my darkened mind of sleep, the sudden voice in the void was distant, hazy, and barely echoed about my head, completely unrecognizable.

"Shiloh…"

It was clearer and louder this time, rolling off the tongue with a satisfying chill to it, as if the words were of that which was not righteous to the world, the profound tones making me groan uncomfortably.

"Shy…"

It was even more noticeable this time, though it sounded almost different as it echoed through my subconscious oblivion, lighter and more familiar. I felt my mind ignite slightly, eyelids feathering open to allow the sudden light about me awaken my body, a burst of life rushing through my veins. Finally, I became aware, awakening from my sleep. Memory came crashing back into me, explaining the Victorian-style English room I now was in, the sheets that were tightly pulled into my body, and the dull soreness in my ears from headphones the night before. I rolled over, head digging into the pillows while facing and watching the ceiling, still trying to shake away any excess sleep that lay in my eyes.

"Shiloh!"

I screamed as I scurried back to the headrest, eyes suddenly wide and terrified as a large, brunette head came over mine, inches away from my face. Blinking as a roar of laughter filled the room, I shook my head, focusing on the form of Matt beside my bed, leaning against my wall to keep from falling with hysterics. Sudden realization came upon me.

The little punk had woken me up just to scare the living crap out of me with my early-morning lack of awareness.

A growl came into my throat, eyes narrowing dangerously as my posture eased slightly. My eyes narrowed, and, as quick as I could, I leapt out of the bed and lunged at him, tackling my friend to the wooden floor below with a laugh coming from both of us.

"Why would you do that?" I half-snarled, half-cackled, eyes lively now as I pinned his arms above his head, my sudden attack taking him off guard. "I was sleeping!"

He shoved me off next to him, still completely unable to speak, his cackles ringing through the entire room. He pushed himself up, trying to breathe again, and, after a few more seconds, seemed to finally get enough control to actually face me and only snicker. Every time I rolled my eyes. He cleared his throat, standing up fully and composing himself with that usual lopsided smile of his, hair frazzled and wily about his head.

"Nice dou," I commented absently, allowing myself to stand as well, blushing when I realized I was still clad in only my silky nightgown. Trying to act casual, I pushed down any wrinkles that my sudden outburst and the night had caused, rolled my shoulders, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

Matt smiled even more. "Oh yeah, I worked on it _all_ night." I released a small sound, almost a mixture between a sigh of surprise and a question of his actions last night. Cracking a beam, I shook my head, walking over to the wardrobe to dress for the day.

"I decided to get you up because it's already like, eleven, and I figured you of all people wouldn't want me to allow you to waste the day sleeping," the young man drawled, widely stepping towards the door before leaning against its frame, arms crossed over his chest. His lankiness made it awkward, to say the least, but it fit his momentary personality. Matt was one of those people that just would change on the spur of event and time; not severely enough to be considered bipolar or a quadrapheniac, even a split personality; essentially, he was always still Matt. People just saw how he presented himself differently, according to how he wanted to be perceived. He would make a bloody brilliant actor.

I shrugged, looking over my shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "I didn't know we had plans today," I said back, cocking my head slightly to the side. Apparently I just missed everything when I slept.

He held up his hands as a showing of innocence. "Apparently we have a guest coming over today. As of this morning."

I rolled my eyes melodramatically. "What is it with theses Brits and their need for company? I mean seriously, we just went to a party last night!"

Matt snickered my way. He knew all too well that I liked my personal space after long nights or events like that. Even this was a bit of a push on my early nerves. "Dunno. That's not the important part though. You and I are going to go check out one of the music stores downtown." Great. Leave it to Matt to not even know the name of the place.

"Why do I not recall agreeing to this?"

"Because you didn't," he drawled as he exited my room, closing the door behind him as I muttered under my breath in irritation. Little scoundrel…probably making me come along just to ensure that he could go.

Matt was an aspiring guitar player. He had been playing since he was twelve years old, though never formally. It was more on the idea of figuring out how to read tablature, and then teaching himself techniques and speed by playing learning as many possible songs as he could.

That's where I came in. Matt isn't exactly musically savvy when it comes to hard rock and metal bands, even classic and alternative. He always thought me as a teacher to him in that way-I had turned him on to every single band or artist he liked to this day. Plus, my mother and I had contacts…which meant gigs for favors for such a close friend as him.

Sighing to myself, I slipped off the nightgown, pulling over my head in its place a Misfits shirt, made with a black background and the classic Skullhead and the band logo for proper appearance. Then, I slipped into a pair of loose blue jeans, dark and worn at the knees, finally adding a red leather jacket to keep warm in this weather and my black vans.

Silently, I opened my door, making my way to the bathroom and smoothing out my hair, falling straight over my shoulders, and performing the rest of my toiletry needs before skipping unevenly down the stairs, lips pursed.

"Well, look who decided to get up!" Emma's excited voice reached my ears from around the corner of the living room, the kitchen if I remembered correctly. Clicking my tongue, I headed over to her, my assumption of the place proving correct, and immediately turned to open the refrigerator.

"What can I say?" I asked slowly. "I like sleep." She laughed humorlessly and shortly. I pulled out an apple, leaning back against the counter as I bit into its sour contents, the juices running a searing course down the back of my throat.

"Matt's waiting for you in the garage with Anna." Of course. We would have to take one of Anna's cars. "Oh, and make sure to be back around five. We have a guest coming over for dinner then, and Anna always wants to have a good impression.

I kicked off the counter, nodding slightly as I passed her. "No promises where Matt is concerned." The statement was simple and true; Matt had a highly tedious tendency of not being on time, and dragging people with him to be late. Before Emma could say anything else, I opened the garage door and descended into its sultry contents, lit by the drab streaks of light coming from its open door, leading outside. Three cars were in there-the van from last night, a patched up Fastback, and a bright red convertible. As soon as I saw it, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing; the likeness of it to the one in _Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas_ was just too perfect.

And it was also the one Matt and Anna were standing by. Anna smiled lightly at me, Matt's face unreadable as I walked up to him, hands in my pockets. If I had to take a guess, though, he looked like a perfect mix between disappointed and pissed.

"I am going to let you take the convertible," Anna said softly, producing the keys before handing them to me. "You are the only one who is allowed to drive though. Emma has told me several of Matthew's…exploits while at the wheel of the car."

"I'm so glad everyone trusts me so much," he muttered as Anna walked back towards the house and he slammed the passenger door shut.

"Nobody trusts you when it comes to driving, Matt."

"I've had my license for three more years than you!"

"That honestly means nothing."

* * *

The rest of the day flashed by without too much of a reckoning to me. Matt had been smart enough to get the directs, and got us there without too much of a problem; still, I was bored beyond levels I thought humanly possible as he tried what I am pretty sure was every. Single. Guitar. In that entire store.

Then, four fifty came to pass as I suddenly looked at the clock. _Thank God_ I thought as I stood up from where I was seated at a drum set, and almost ran over to my friend.

"Okay, we need to go now," I said, slowing down towards the door.

"What? Why?"

His incredulous statement made me stop in my tracks, absolutely fuming. I turned on my heel to look his way, face slack.

"Recall? We need to be home at five."

He scoffed. "_About_ five. We can be a few minutes late."

I narrowed my eyes dangerously, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him and crossing my arms. "In case you haven't noticed over the years upon years we've known each other," I growled, completely irate from the turn of events after the incredible throw-away of a day, "I try to keep up a reputation of being punctual."

He shook his head without a word, turning his head back to the current model in his hands. I could tell at a glance it was a Schechter Hellraiser C-1. My hands balled into fists as he continued jamming.

"Matt, put it up. We need to go."

He pulled up a set of headphones from the side of the amp he was using, plugged them in, and pulled them over his head.

Yup. I was stuck here for a while longer.

I slinked back to my drum seat, in no mood to argue. If I could hurry, we might still be able to get there on time.

Until twenty more minutes passed.

I was rage. Pure and utter rage. Sometimes, I truly and utterly hated this boy. This was one of those times. Just one of those angry days, where your character is so twisted because someone else just had to push you past your limits. Still, my face did not show how my I was seething. No, it was depicted as a blank façade; my aura, though, and how my eyes were screwed up, told just what mood I was in. Matt knew this mood better than most, and even he didn't get it that often. It was just flat-out bad. I loathed being angered; the entire feeling just held way too much tension for my taste. That made it all the worse.

I had had it. I stood up, arms still crossed, and tightly made my way over to the amplifier. In one swift, fluid motion, I tore the guitar cord from the machine, and stood tall again, glaring down at him. His eyes burst open at the suddenly lack of sound, and thrust up to me in a fit.

"What the Hell?" he asked, throwing his arms wide innocently.

"Put. It. Away." The words came from behind clenched teeth.

"God, relax! We're supposed to be having-"

"We're leaving!" I finally snarled, done with him for the day. He shrank back, eyes growing wider, and he nodded as quickly as he could, not daring to talk. It would be highly hazardous on one of my turn days. Truthfully, I had guessed last night that today might be one of those days, where I was just off and on edge.

He handed the guitar back to the worker at his side, swiftly stood up, and followed me with his head down out of the store.

The ride home was completely silent. The wind through my hair had done wonders to quell my attitude; I was calmer and less visibly rage-filled as we pulled into the garage. Yes, I was still pissed at my friend, but I figured there wasn't much I could do at this point. We were already late, and no matter how he tried to bend the truth, Emma and Michaela knew it was his fault we were late. Not. Mine.

If he even dared to try and pull anything. At this point, from the way he was shaking slightly, I was pretty sure it would be a quiet evening for him.

At least, I figured, nothing else could go wrong as we headed up the stairs. My eyes closed to half-moons, and a slight smile played on my lips. I didn't want to be anymore of a burden to Anna's social life than I already had been, so it would do me well to at least _play_ the part of the happy, optimistic, sarcastic girl I usually was. Or just sit there and smile. Try not to look at Matt. The general tactics of pleasing a crowd when you're having mood swings.

The door from the garage flew open just before I could open it, revealing a very worried looking Emma and an amused Michaela.

"Oh my God!" Emma screeched, rushing forward to hug me. "You're half an hour late! I thought something terrible happened!" Typical Emma. Always worrying.

"Dude, relax!" I said with a laugh, pushing her off and looking to Michaela.

"Matt enjoying those guitars too much?" the elder girl asked.

I shrugged. "It was bound to happen."

Emma scoffed and looked over to Matt. "Honestly! Must you always pull us down with us to your quest of imperfection?" I chuckled at her statement. Just as he was about to answer, she leaned back over me. "Well, our guest is here already." She looked up to the ceiling and sighed heavily. I raised an eyebrow. This was disconcerting; Emma annoyed was never a good sign. Michaela audibly laughed, reaching forward and grasping my forearm, dragging me past Emma and into the house.

"Oh, you're gonna love this!" She pulled me into the kitchen, where Anna stood, putting the finishing touches on a tray of tea. She was beaming more broadly than I even deemed possible from that woman.

"What?" I asked, looked about the kitchen curiously as Anna noticed me.

"Oh Shiloh! You're back! We were starting to worry!" I faked a smile. So says the tea platter you are setting up. Michaela released my arm, stepping back through the kitchen and into the living room. What struck me, though, was how I could see her head upstairs, giggling to herself.

"Sorry," I said back, still watching the stairs and wondering. "Matt was growing…attached to the multitudes of instruments at the shop."

"Oh, no worries, no worries. You're here now, so everything is fine." I stepped forward, and placed the car keys on the counter. "Our guest is eager to see you, though."

I leaned back onto my heels, thrusting my hands into my pockets, completely taken by surprise. "Really?" I asked, my voice peaking to a higher pitch slightly.

"Indeed, he is," a voice purred from behind me. A voice that had been branded into my mind.

_Oh God…_

* * *

I sat on opposite end of the same leather couch the Count was on, huddling as far as I could into the corner while he sat tall and straight on the other end, a smirk on his face as he scanned over me occasionally, though thoroughly engaged in his conversation with Anna, who sat in a solitary chair across a glass coffee table from us. He bore an immaculate black suit, still gloving his hands and with slight boots covering his feet. Black hair was still swept back into a ponytail. Blue eyes were still glinting, though slightly different from the way they had been the evening before. Their conversation wasn't even reaching meaning in my mind; the very words they said weren't registering in my usually acute mind. No, instead I was more focused on the fact that I had a bloody 40-year-old stalker who apparently had nothing better to do than follow me about. Oh, and now he knew _where I was staying. _This was a horrendous situation.

Of course, I had tried to escape staying down here with him by escaping to the upstairs, where all three of my friends were. But, no. Not on Anna's watch. I had to stay down here as what I saw as repentance for not getting back here faster. Lucky me.

"Well, I think I shall go get some food ready," Anna said, standing. The sudden action and choice words made me snap up to attention. "Can't have the entire house starving, now can we?"

I stood myself. "I'll come help you-"

She shot me a glare, one that forced me to sit back down. "No, I think it would be best if you stayed here and kept Vlad company while I cook. I'm using the downstairs kitchen, if you need anything." With that, she started off, her heels clicking as she descended underground. Great. Why did she have to have two kitchens!

I took a deep breath, straightening myself and looking over to the man in question, and blinked more harshly than usual as I noticed he was staring at me, and sat distinctly closer to my position. Trying not to let on my awkward impression, I reached down to the table, and closed my eyes as I took a long sip of my tea. As I set it back down, I leaned back and jumped slightly. He was sitting right next to me now, our waists only a few inches from touching.

"What?" he asked, clearly amused, with that infuriating accent of his, truly reminding me of the man who was next to me, and that he was the one who was so close to me last night. "Nervous of close proximities?"

I let the shock die down, and decided to be myself: smart-mouthed, impatient, defensive, and not dealing with crap like this.

"No, it's just that I distinctly recall you being well over _there_ a few seconds ago," I drawled, gesturing with my head to where he had been so much more comfortable seated. In my opinion, anyway.

His chuckle was what through me off first. "Now, why would I want to stay down there, away from such a beautiful, lavish young lady?" His breath ran down over my ear as he leaned in closer to me. Holding in a gag, I pushed myself even further into the arm of the couch, trying to roll off. My legs fell behind his, evening out my near-laying body. Before I could escape, though, his arms were placed at either side of my head as he leaned down over my body, pressing our chests together yet again. My heart was racing.

"You know," he said softly, "I didn't appreciate you running out on me last night." I squirmed, not daring to call for Anna or my friends. The aura he gave off just screamed danger for both them and me if I did. His breath was hot on my face as he leaned in even closer, shutting off all paths of escape. My arms were completely immobile, pinned under his heavy weight. "This time, though, I think you will find that I have your _full_ attention. No need to hurry off." His lips extended into that smirk again, slowly contracting as his eyes closed and they parted, presenting the exact same image as the night before. Except this time, his descent was even more slow, like he was savoring every second of this immensely.

_Please, Emma, say something! Anything!_ I glanced over to the staircase, my jaw setting tightly. I couldn't back into the couch any further; even now, it was almost painful how much his chest dug into mine.

Then, his lips slammed into mine. My eyes went wide, feeling velvety skin crush into mine with what seemed like desperate force, possessive and longing. I squealed slightly, trying to thrash his off with quick jerks of my head, but he seemed completely unfazed. His tongue reached out, licking the contour of my lips, the rough skin honestly scaring me. His slow movements felt like they lasted for hours, and his face looked in absolutely ecstasy.

"Shiloh?" Emma's sweet, piercing vocals came from the staircase, and my eyes flew to her in complete thanks. Oh, thank you Lady Luck! I will never berate thee again!

The Count flew off of me at the sound of her voice, sitting fully and clenching his jaw, though not baring his teeth as he narrowed her eyes at her form on the stairs. I took the chance. To Hell with whatever Anna said later; I flew off the couch, sprinting up the stairs and into Emma, then further, with her in tow, into my room as I slammed the door behind us.


End file.
